


You Can Be The Boss

by Kymopoleia



Category: Danny Phantom
Genre: M/M, dan is pushy, dash doesn't like bruises, dash is starry eyed, give me the motivation and i will tho, i don't know what au this is, in any way shape or form, influenced by lana del rey and halsey, not healthy, really old, take it as it is haha, there isn't smut bc i never finished it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-27
Updated: 2016-02-27
Packaged: 2018-05-23 11:04:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6114535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kymopoleia/pseuds/Kymopoleia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dash meets someone interesting at a club and maybe he rushes into things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Can Be The Boss

Dash liked being able to do things that he wanted to do. It had started when he was little, when he wanted to play with special toys or when he wanted to do things he wasn’t supposed to, and not much had changed since then other than the legality of the toys and the age limit on the things that he wanted to do. What had started with nerf guns and the big kid’s playhouse turned into alcohol and high school parties and then into attractive adults and bars. He’d realized sometime between when he got into football and when he’d stopped wailing on Danny Fenton that he was attracted to men and women, and he’d realized after the first time an older woman kissed him at a party that he didn’t like people his age. The people his age weren’t mature (and he certainly wasn’t) and expected him to be the stronger, more responsible person, but he honestly sucked at handling himself and dealing with life.

He hadn’t gotten an opportunity to be in a serious relationship with an adult, since most of them would spend a few hours with him in a bar or nightclub, feeling him up and kissing him and giving him hickies, but then they’d leave without giving him their number and he’d never see them again. It was disappointing, but he wouldn’t complain, since atleast the next day he’d have the memories, but every lingering touch and soft kiss made him crave more.

One night in mid-October junior year, Dash is standing in a hole-in-the-wall nightclub in the west side of Amity Park, a beer in one hand and his back pressed against a slightly-glowing brick wall. The club is ghost-themed, as a lot of the town had become at some point, and is mostly covered in glow-in-the-dark orange and green and white splatters of paint. It’s all pretty grimy, but the music isn’t too bad and the bouncer doesn’t card people on Tuesdays.

Dash is pretty sure that the only reason he hasn’t gotten caught yet is that he doesn’t cause trouble. He’ll have a few drinks, usually three at most, he’ll flirt with people who stop and talk to him, but he doesn’t go out and look for trouble and he doesn’t usually let himself be pulled into the dancefloor. It’s a nice little system that he has going, reliable, and he’s sure that it won’t break.

He pulls the beer up to his lips to take a sip, grimacing at the taste. A girl who had a “21st birthday” plastic crown had given it to him before her friends had dragged her away to the dancefloor, and he’s grateful even though it isn’t his favorite.

Dash has noticed a few people looking him over, taking note of his blond boy scout haircut and his varsity jacket, but no one has come up to him yet. And he’s okay with that, so long as the music making him sway against the wall doesn’t stop until he has someone to keep him company.

He’s mostly done with the beer and has the beginnings of a headache thrumming at the base of his skull by the time something happens. He barely notices it until it’s grinding against his right hip, threading its fingers into his right hand, and breathing heavily on his ear.

‘It’ turns out to be a tall, tan, buff guy wearing a thin black v neck and a pair of tight leather pants that, from what Dash can tell, don’t hide anything. The guy has long black hair pulled back into a ponytail and a well-trimmed beard. Dash can hardly see his face in the din of the club, but he can tell that there are heavily lined eyes and a flash of something metal between his lips. Dash is pretty sure he’s never seen him before, but the guy is incredibly easy on the eyes and growing harder against Dash’s hip the longer he looks at him.

The guy keeps eye contact as he rotates to press his hips directly into Dash’s- and _oh_ does it feel good after all the time he’d been standing here alone. The hand in his lifts and pushes his against the wall next to Dash’s shoulder, and a pair of hungry lips are suddenly on his.

The song overhead is thumping in time to the messy way their lips mash and pull together, the sloppy way Dash tries to shove his tongue into the other guy’s mouth and gets bit instead, the gross way Dash’s chin gets wet from liquor and spit. By the time he can breathe again, the guy’s right hand is squeezing his left hip and he’s still pressing into him almost painfully.

Dash brings his left hand to wipe his chin and the guy laughs, saying something that gets lost to the guitar solo overhead.

The presses of the other guy’s hips into his turns into a slow grind-and-rock motion that leaves Dash blushing and gasping, back arching into the guy needily and his fingers slipping off of the mouth of the beer bottle.

He is vaguely aware of the bottle smashing, of the beer splashing up onto his shoes and pant legs, but he can’t focus on anything with the way the guy’s leg is forcing its way between his thighs and forcing him to open up.

Dash likes this. It’s hot, it’s heavy, and he has just about no control in the situation or where it goes. He wants more, wants to be taken home by this guy more than he’s wanted to be taken home since the first time he snuck into a party and got bruised lips from an older woman. Dash can’t stand the thought of being left here after this, so he tries harder than he usually does, reaching up with his left hand to fist it in the guy’s shirt and try to kiss his way up (and that feels weird, kissing someone who’s taller than him, but it’s nice too) into the guy’s mouth.

His left wrist is grabbed and slammed into the wall, and Dash pulls back, bumping his head into the wall as he looks up worriedly. It’s definitely going to bruise, and while he tolerates the hickies, he’s still nervous about them and other types of bruises.

The guy leans in, and Dash finally gets a good look at his eyes. They’re a rusty brown, bordering on red, and they’re narrowed under a pair of raised eyebrows.

“And what,” he purrs, and Dash can actually hear him now. “Do you think you’re doing?”

“Um, k-kissing you?” Dash mumbles back, arching into the guy and trying to move his wrists. The guy’s grip tightens, and Dash gasps softly, wincing.

“I thought I told you to let me lead?” The guy leans in to kiss his neck, then start sucking on his earlobe. Dash shudders.

“I, um, I didn’t hear you.” He said, voice going high pitched when there’s a tug on his earlobe. The guy’s hips are grinding into his again, and it’s _very_ distracting.

The guy hums and pulls back entirely, even letting go of Dash. There’s a split second of relief before the panic sets in that he’s just going to be left again.

The guy reaches into his pocket and pulls out a cigarette and a sharpie, and scribbles his number on the side of the cigarette. He offers it to Dash with his eyebrows raised and a quirk in his lip as he drawls out “Do you want it?”

Dash takes it and puts it in his pocket, but when he looks back up he’s alone with sore wrists and a bruised mouth, confused and light headed and sorely tempted to go home and curl up in bed.

Dash waits until lunch the next day to call the number. He’d saved it to his phone and tossed the cigarette as soon as he got home, but it took him a lot longer to actually bring himself to press the call button.

He felt stupid for feeling as spooked as he was. It was honestly _stupid_. Yeah, he wasn’t that into bruises, and the next day left him uncomfortable and nervous, but the way that he’d been kissed and looked at, the honest _hunger_ in the guy’s eyes had done a lot to him. His heart flutters nervously in his chest as the phone rings three, four, five times, and then there’s a click and a groggy “Hello?” and Dash just _melts_.

“Um, hi?” He replies, leaning against the cafeteria wall. He’s stepped outside, and now he’s looking around nervously, hoping no one yells at him for being out here or for using his phone.

“Who’s this?” The guy drawls.

“Um, you gave me your number last night, at the club?” Dash coughs. “We made out?”

There’s a pregnant pause before the guy sighs. “Oh, yeah. I remember. What time is it?”

“11:30.” Dash says. “Did you just wake up?”

“Did you just not?” The guy quips. “Whatever. Are you ever going to give me your name, princess?”

Dash bites his lip. “Dash.”

“Dash. Is that something you do or something you’re called?”

Dash laughs and starts blushing, scuffing his shoe against the gritty walkway that looks like it hasn’t been cleaned in a million years. “Uhm, both?”

The guy laughs too. “How cute.”

“So, do I get a name?” Dash asks.

“What, don’t like being called Dash or Princess? Want me to name you?” The guy’s voice gets husky, and Dash’s blush darkens.

“No! No, I, um, I meant, d-don’t you have a name?”

“Dan.”

Dash bites his lip. “Dan?”

“Mhm. That’s the name. Would say not to wear it out, ‘cept I want to hear you screaming it.”

Dash covers his face with one hand, trying not to freak out or make too much noise.

“Still there? Or did I scare you off?”

“I’m um, still here.” Dash sighs. “Sorry.”

“Are you busy right now, princess?” Dan asks.

“Kind of? I’m um. Uh, don’t get mad?”

“Won’t get mad unless you say you’re with someone else. I don’t do sharing.”

Dash laughs nervously. “No, I’m not with anyone. I’m at school.”

“Oh? You’re a schoolboy? Do you have a little uniform?” Dan teases, and Dash lets out yet another breathy laugh, because he’ll be damned if that voice isn’t doing things for him.

“No uniform, just, just a football one.”

“Hm, with all the pads and the jockstraps?”

“Yeah.”

“We’ll have to see about getting it all messy, now, won’t we?”

Dash bites his lips, closing his eyes. “Sounds good, I guess.”

“You guess? Aw, something wrong princess?”

“Were you being serious last night, when you kissed me? Or were you just playing around and trying to get off?” Dash opens his eyes again, looking up at the sky.

“Can’t I do both?” Dan asks.

“I just don’t want to get hurt-“

“You seemed to like it when I hurt you last night.” Dan cuts him off, and Dash sucks in a breath. “Now, why don’t you come by my place after school, and we’ll talk it out? I’ll show you exactly how,” He pauses, emphasizing the next word. “ _Serious_ I am.”

The bell rings inside the cafeteria, and there’s a dull roar as his classmates start picking up and leaving for their next class.

“Yeah, just text me the address.” Dash says quickly, stepping away from the wall. “See you then?”

“See you then.”

The rest of the school day passes in a painfully slow blur, especially with how Dash was reacting to hearing the guy- no, _Dan’s_ voice. Dash couldn’t tell what accent he had, but it was really nice to listen to, especially when his voice got low and slow and he said all of the rude, dirty things that Dash wanted to hear.

When Dash finally makes it out of his last class, finally ditches Kwan and Paulina and Star, he slides into his car and leaves the parking lot, putting the address into his phone’s GPS and letting his phone guide him to the dingier neighborhood of Amity Park, Bed-Stuy. It’d been jokingly named by someone after a huge family from that part of Brooklyn moved there and the name had just kinda stuck.

Dash pulls up in front of the brick townhouse, making sure to roll up his windows and lock his doors before he steps out of it. The walk up to the door is nerve-wracking and feels like it takes forever, but when he’s finally there the door swings open and Dan is there, dragging him inside by the collar of his shirt.

Dash has barely three seconds to register that all Dan seems to be wearing is a pair of filthy low-slung sweatpants before their mouths are smashing together and Dash is being shoved up against another wall.

If anything, somehow, the kiss is rougher than the one the night before. It’s all lips mashing together, teeth clacking and biting and tugging, and then, finally, when Dash just gives in, sucking and biting on his lip, jaw, the soft part of his throat under his chin, then his pulse point. Dan’s hands are everywhere- tugging at his hair, clawing down his chest, grabbing his wrists and shoving them against the wall, sliding down his back and into his pants to roughly squeeze his ass, digging his nails into his hips, then tugging at the belt around Dash’s waist.

By the time Dan pulls back, Dash is sore all over and keyed up, wanting to please and wanting to hear Dan talk to him the way he had on the phone earlier, all filthy words and husky tone. Yeah, Dash had come here to talk, but he hardly remembers that through the haze that is the thigh rubbing against his crotch, helping to make him forget everything.

Dash takes a few deep, ragged breaths, and Dan smirks as he leans forwards to press a kiss to Dash’s chin.

“Good boy,” he croons, pushing himself impossibly further into Dash’s personal space. “Made it here alright, I see.”

Dash nods, tilting his head a bit to look up at the older man. He manages a breathy “Yeah,” before Dan is kissing him again.

This kiss isn’t any slower than the first one, but it’s more expected and better received. Where, the first time, Dash had been dazed and only able to reply by complying, this time he is an active participant, messily mashing his lips with Dan’s and tugging back with his teeth whenever he feels Dan’s graze his lips or nip at them. Dan retaliates to the sudden activity by trying to distract Dash in other ways, namely unbuckling his belt and pulling it off before folding it a few times and slapping Dash’s thigh with it.

Dash pulls out of the kiss, sliding his arms around Dan’s waist and looking up at him. His lips are barely parted and his eyes are bright, and if the hungry look from Dan is any indication, he looks good.

“Are we gonna just stand here and make out like teenagers?” Dash asks.

“You are a teenager, school boy.” Dan slaps his thigh again, and Dash gasps before smiling.

“Yeah, but you’re not. Show me how the big boys play and I’ll try to keep up.”

Dan smirks. “How the big boys play?”

Dash nods. “How the big boys play.”

Dan’s left hand, the one not holding Dash’s belt, curls around Dash’s hip just under his shirt. Dash is struck by how warm he is, but doesn’t have a chance to think about it before there’s a quick kiss pressed to his lips and then nothing.

Dan is turning, walking down the hallway towards a stairwell. Once he’s a couple up, he half turns and beckons for Dash to follow. Dash does, quickly, heading up the stars three at a time in excitement.

Once on the second floor, Dash sees a couple doors but only one open one, and steps inside cautiously, trying to look around and absorb as much as he could before he got jumped.

The room was messy, as could be expected from a young twenty or thirty something guy who gave teenagers his number on cigarettes at clubs late at night. He was standing near the foot of his bed, looking over Dash’s belt as if he was seriously considering actually using it.


End file.
